


Two Halves of One Whole

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should be on top of the world, standing drinks down at Harley's and fighting off babes that want to get with the 'hacker hero' of 2007.  Instead, he's fucking up code that he should be able to write in his sleep – and really, when the goddamn IT guy at the local cable company starts reaming you out for your shoddy coding, you should just turn in your geek badge and get it over with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Halves of One Whole

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt 'discordance'
> 
> * * *

I

Even with the limited information on Matt's part in averting the fire sale that is released to the press, Matt gets more work than he's had in years. Or ever. The resultant increase in his bank account is nice. His new apartment is a step up from the old one – which, granted, means it's just a shithole and not a roach-infested shithole – and he spends way too much time trying to track down a mint-in-case 70's Mego Spiderman now that he's got the money to actually spend on it.

He should be on top of the world, standing drinks down at Harley's and fighting off babes that want to get with the 'hacker hero' of 2007. Instead, he's fucking up code that he should be able to write in his sleep – and really, when the goddamn IT guy at the local cable company starts reaming you out for your shoddy coding, you should just turn in your geek badge and get it over with. And he gets killed on the second level of Articus Rising, _twice_ , and makes the mistake of telling Warlock about it, which means he'll never hear the end of it from his supposed best friend or his guild or the rest of the internet ever.

Something is throwing him off.

He can't put his finger on it.

 

II

They try to hand John a promotion – again – and he refuses it. Again. He already spends enough time with his ass in a chair running his division of the JTTF, thank you fucking much. Then there's talk of adding another designation to his title, and by the time they're batting around inanities like Special Detective Bullshit First Class he just gets up and leaves the office. 

In the end, he gets another medal that he shoves into the bottom dresser drawer with the rest. 

After a few weeks they leave him the hell alone, thank Christ, because he's got half a dozen pending cases, two of which involve national security at the highest level, and he needs to concentrate on putting more bad guys behind bars.

So when he fucks up on a warrant that could have resulted in Pinciotti walking out a free man – and thank fucking God he has someone like Hernandez on his team who caught the goddamn misplaced phrase before it got any further – he knows the guys are waiting with bated breath for him to lose it. Instead, he swipes a palm over his head and goes home early. Walks through his empty apartment and listens to the clock on the wall ticking over the seconds. He drinks a beer he doesn't taste, eats food that has no flavour.

Same old, same old. Everything is copa-fucking-setic.

So he has no idea why he feels so ill at ease.

 

III

Matt doesn't want to go to the medal of honour ceremony, because honestly crowds sort of bother him in that 'I don't know which of you might actually be one of Gabriel's henchmen intent on getting revenge on the nerd who fucked up your plans' kind of way. It's Warlock, of all people, who convinces him to go, reminding him that if any of Gabriel's goons were still alive to wreak vengeance they'd have done it long before now. 

"So because I haven't been killed _yet_ , that means I won't be killed _now_?" he had asked the Warlock.

"Exactly," Warlock had replied.

It's weird logic, but it seems to work for him.

So he sits through the speeches and smiles for the cameras and shakes hands with way too many scum-sucking bottom-feeding politicians. When he can't take it anymore he ducks behind a pillar near a potted plant and tries to look inconspicuous.

"Leg healed up nice."

"Oh. Hey!" Matt jerks up at the voice. He doesn't remember McClane being that damn quiet, but then again they were constantly surrounded by gunfire and explosions, so. Understandable. He glances down at his leg. "Yeah. Clean shot. Sometimes it twinges in cold weather or when it's raining, but I don't even limp or anything," he says, and then does a little jig to prove it, and honestly where the hell did that come from? He ducks his head to hide the flush that he can feel creeping up into his cheeks, but that just makes John grunt in amusement.

"Still need a haircut."

Matt lifts his head then, arches a brow. "And you still… don't."

John grunts again, swivels his neck to take in the milling crowd. "I hate this shit," he says.

"Yeah," Matt agrees. "Got a nice plaque, though."

When John just sneers down at the plaque tucked under his arm and makes a noise at the back of his throat, Matt smiles. The grunt repertoire is getting a workout tonight. 

"It's all bullshit," John says, not taking his eyes from the crowd. 

Matt had been considering trying to make a break for it, anyway. "You wanna… I don't know… like, make our escape, or something?"

John finally pulls his gaze away from the crowd to eye him. "You got beer?" 

 

IV

They go through most of a 12-pack before the kid gets up to take a piss and nearly falls on his face.

"I'm not drunk," he says quickly.

John's been nursing his second beer since the end of the first period, so he's well aware of exactly how much alcohol Matt has pounded back. He raises a brow. "You're three sheets to the wind, kid."

Matt scowls, swaying from side to side. "I'm not," he insists. At John's dubious gaze, he lifts a finger. "Okay, fine, I may be two sheets to the wind. Possibly two and a half. But I am definitely at least half a sheet away from complete and total inebriation."

John grunts. "Good to know."

Matt scrubs a hand over his face. "Don't remember where I was going, though."

John can't stop himself from smiling. "Bathroom."

"Right!" Matt says. He spins on his heel, nearly takes a header into the coffee table before righting himself. 

John rolls his eyes. Two and a half sheets, his ass.

"You okay, kid?" John asks.

Matt tilts his head to the side, considering the question for far longer than it requires. Then he grins, a wide happy exultant grin that makes John's chest feel tight. "Yeah," he finally says. "Now I am."

John watches him stumble off down the hall before settling back in the sofa and turning his attention to the game. "Yeah," he says softly. "I hear ya, kid."


End file.
